6. Aurelia
Chapter 6
Aurelia
S uppressing a mad scowl after Xander greets his family, I lope towards the corner of the room he indicates, dutifully sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Somehow, this is far worse than being simply locked up in a cold, dark dungeon like I imagined. They didn’t subject Sabrina to this sort of treatment, from what we gathered from her story when she’d been kidnapped and brought here. I suppose the Boneweaver is a special case.
Here by fucking choice, and I feel like I need to keep reminding everyone of that fact.
Sighing under my breath, I survey the table with great interest. This is Xander’s family. The people he tore my soul open for.
His Royal Majesty, King Flores Drakos, sits stiff-backed in his gilded chair, his acerbic scent of smoke and burnt things lingering in the air from his entrance. I’ve met him before, once at my tribunal for Halfeather’s murder, and a second time when they came to the academy and tried to take Lyle to prison. Even if I hadn’t seen him those times, being king of dragon court, his photo is everywhere. On the news, on the TV, on social media. An imposing, handsome man in his early fifties, he has long, straight, jet black hair like Xander’s, almond-shaped bright golden eyes, and perfect, pale skin. He’s dressed impeccably in a black shirt and slacks, with the long burgundy overcoat decorated in gold embroidery. He eats his breakfast of bacon and eggs with sharp, impatient strokes.
What on earth made a dragon like him stand in league with my father? What drew him to plot alongside Serpent Court? This is one of the things I have to find out.
The other two adults at the table I am even more curious about, having never seen or heard hide nor tail of them. I had no idea Xander had a sister, as neither Savage nor Scythe had ever mentioned her, but I can only presume that’s who the young lady sitting with the children is. She’s a stunning, delicate young woman, in her late-twenties, her long black hair worn straight down her back, a clip of gold and rubies keeping it off her face. Her slender frame is covered in a powder blue sundress trimmed with lace and on her feet are matching designer kitten heels. Next to her sits a little boy and girl, no more than eight, cherub-like faces sneaking side-eyed looks at me as they eat their breakfasts. They are dressed in formal clothing, a white lace dress and yellow vest for the girl, and a three-piece blue suit and shorts for the boy. Both wear long white socks up to their knees, and shining gold buckled black shoes.
Sitting at the end of the table, with her back towards me, is a wisp of an older woman. While she’s tall and well-boned, she has barely any muscle on her frame, and moves with the delicate cadence of a person with little energy. My avian power stirs, curious, wanting to explore, to help.
“Uncle Xander!” cries the little boy. “My bacon looks like a snake!” He holds up his fork, a length of bacon hanging off the end as he wiggles it.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Xander smiles where he sits opposite the boy, his pale pink lips curving into a genuine expression of joy. “So it does, Emmerson. A good thing that snakes are perfect for eating.” Xander spears his own bacon with a fork and wolfs it down with relish.
“Do not play with your food, my sweet,” says Lady Drakos in a delicate, hoarse voice. Emmerson expertly cuts into his portion, eating it as if carefully taught.
Something in my heart bleeds a little, because it hits me then.
That Xander’s mother is the only mother my pack has— had left. And Xander’s sister is the only sibling left. None of us—Savage, Scythe and Lyle—have a family outside of our mates. It’s just what we have in this room.
And by formally rejecting me, he’d not only denied me of himself, but… this . The happiness that comes with giggling children, the warm embrace of a doting mother, the padded barb of a sister’s teasing jibe.
I sway where I sit, suddenly faint, my vision blurry.
“Woof woof,” coos a little bird-like voice. “Woof woof, come eat this!”
Blinking hard, I try to focus on the sounds of the room. It’s the little girl beckoning to me this time, holding up an entire boiled egg between small fingers.
“She has a name, Delilah,” Xander’s sister chides. She turns to me. “Aurelia. Or Lia, right?”
I stare at the polite young woman with the golden eyes.
“Do not use its name, Sissy,” Xander says more harshly than I expect.
“We have to call her something ,” she mutters.
“What was that, Selena?” Lord Drakos asks in a low voice.
“Nothing, Father,” she replies quickly.
“That’s what I thought.”
I clench my fists in my lap to prevent myself from launching at the king dragon. What a rude motherfucker. Selena is a pretty name. A name for the woman I might have called a sister.
“I call her woof woof!” Delilah says enthusiastically. “We’ve never had one before.” She explains to me, and I understand they’ve never been allowed a dog or a pet. No doubt another stupid Drakos family rule.
Human servants move discreetly in and out of the room, serving Xander his coffee and each of the many dishes they have available. A maid leans down from a respectful distance and asks Xander a question, to which he gives a curt nod. After a moment, she returns with yet another porcelain dog bowl and places it on a mat next to me.
I glance at the bowl and find some dog kibble mixed with pieces of cold cut meats. Clenching my jaw so hard it hurts, I turn my face away from it and remain seated for the rest of the breakfast service. The family eats quietly, with the children making small comments or complaints until the servants collect their plates.
“Bring the biodata folder for the heir,” Flores announces to an older butler waiting obediently to the side. The man leaves and returns a moment later with a folder leaden with a neat stack of paper.
“What is this?” Xander asks mildly as the butler places it before him where his plate was only a moment before.
“Potential females,” Flores says haughtily. “For you to select a wife from.”
My stomach twists. I barely stop my mouth from dropping open.
Xander shows no sign of any emotion, however, as he simply opens the folder and starts leafing through the laminated pages, reading with great care. Minnie would appreciate the organisation of the folder like that. I don’t.
It’s not even twenty-four hours since he’s formally rejected me and he’s stuck right into it! Only dragons would be capable of something so callous.
“The meetings will begin tomorrow night,” Flores states evenly. “Starting with the garden soiree your mother and I have planned. They are all keen to meet you.”
Oh, I’m fucking sure they are.
I can’t help but notice that this entire time, Lady Drakos has remained silent, merely sipping at her cup of oolong tea as she calmly surveys Xander with a daydreamy sort of expression.
I can’t imagine what she sees.
The only other beast I’ve met who rejected a mate bond was Titus Clawson when he rejected Minnie, and he didn’t look affected by the rejection at all. Titus is a psychopath for sure, and whatever Xander was before, he seems to be one now.
Perhaps a rejection can turn a person into a psychopath? Does Xander have no feelings at all about denying his soul? Does his dragon have nothing to say about what he’s done?
I don’t even want to admit how much that hurts. How much Xander’s dragon had come to me in times of need. Given me jewellery, spoken words that had filled me with forbidden longing.
And to think that’s all simply…gone. For good.
A bone-deep weariness clings to me like a giant hand pressing me into the floor and threatening to send my anima deep under to a dangerous place, and I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever be able to shake off. Minnie, after her catatonic state, said as much to me. That a severing of the soul bond is a pain that never fades. You only get better at dealing with it.
I must have let out a louder sigh than I thought, because suddenly, all eyes flick to me.
“And now it begins,” says Flores Drakos with a cold smile.
“What exactly?” Xander asks, looking up from the folder.
“The testing. Mace doesn’t care for it, but I do. I want to see exactly what the Boneweaver can do. Take her down to the team. They have work to do.”
It’s funny that dread does not coil through me at Flores’ cold words. This is what I’d expected, after all. Not this sit-in-the-corner-dog-bowl-business. So it’s almost with relief that I rise from my spot as Xander comes to hook his magic golden chain to my collar.
“Bye, woof woof!” the two hatchlings cry. “Bye!”
I turn and manage to get in a wave before I’m tugged out the door.
Ten minutes later, I’m being led into the Drakos entrance hall, where the team of sharp-eyed serpents anxiously wait in their nasty, starched lab coats.
“We’re happy to take it from here, Lord Drakos,” a bald serpent says, stepping forward and holding his hand out expectantly.
“Oh you’re happy, are you?” Xander sneers, making no move to hand over the chain. I stare in surprise at the sheer venom in his tone. “It is my prisoner. I will oversee the study.”
I’m under zero illusions that Xander might be doing this under some altruistic need to protect me. The tightness of his shoulders, the arrogance of his stance and loathing in the shape of his mouth, tell me this is a territorial, possessive, dragon asserting his authority.
If I’m not mistaken, the returned Drakos heir will be at his worst around these potential threats to his home. I know because it’s something I would do in his position.
“O-Of course,” the scientist replies, inclining his head and hiding the flash of fear over his face as he remembers who he’s dealing with.
A beast cold enough to not only reject, but betray his regina.
The scientists lead us out of the entrance hall and through corridors, into a side passageway that slopes underground. I’m suddenly reminded of Animus Academy as a magical hiss sounds and flames splutter to life in the wall sconces to our left and right. The stones of the walls and floor are a complete matte black, allowing the threads of gold woven through them to be easily seen by firelight.
It also makes for a blinding contrast as we eventually turn into the completely white room fronted with rhino-proof glass that still smells of fresh paint.
My heart skips a beat. Okay, a few unhealthy beats as I lay eyes on the obviously newly built testing facility. There are three rows of chairs in front of the glass wall, and no less than five computers next to them.
A place like this filled my nightmares as a teenager. Had always been at the back of my mind, flashing like a warning siren. The entire reason I had to keep my secret like my life depended on it. The reason I’d had to run away from my mates in the first place.
Now the very man who’d warned me about this happening is subjecting me to it. My father is nowhere to be seen, but here I am, willingly walking into my wildest nightmare. Perhaps I have more control over my destiny than I gave myself credit for.
I don’t regret finding my mates. Not now, not ever. And I don’t regret protecting my friends either, especially not after what happened to Sabrina. No one else will ever suffer for my father’s want for me.
This was my choice, is still my choice, and at least, I can hold on to that as my heart thunders in my ears.
Her name was Athena Boneweaver and she will get her revenge.
“We will recommence the sampling protocol,” the bald, middle-aged serpent, apparently the leader of this team, says. “Miss Boneweaver, sit on this table.”
Well, at least someone around here is using my name. The whole ‘It’ thing Xander and his dad have going is already starting to get on my nerves. Xander snaps his wrist with the usual amount of irritation, and the cold chain roughly snaps off my neck, retracting back into his gold bangle.
Exhaling through my nose, I oblige the scientist and stride into the room and towards the table like I’m not terrified out of my feathers. Even through my new dress, the steel is cold against my ass as I sit on it, but it’s nothing compared to the cold that captures my heart as five tall figures in black military uniform stalk in and seat themselves on the other side of the glass as if ready for a show.
Five skeleton masks cover the lower halves of their faces, and the fifth, the biggest of them, has pulled his mask up all the way to cover his entire face. I feel Ghoul’s eyes on me as a scientist jabs a needle into the inside of my elbow and takes another vial of blood. Xander, on the other hand, has the audacity to be seated behind Ghoul, concentrating on his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his scowling lips.
I tear my eyes off all the bastards as the serpents in lab coats bustle around me, no doubt feeling very important as they commence this highly lucrative research. I wonder what their paper will be titled.
“So what’s next?” I ask, noticing, for the first time the scientists are wearing name tags. “Solomon?” He’s ordering people around with the importance of the head honcho.
He’s surprised that I’ve spoken to him directly, faint brows rising. “We’ve taken samples from your human vehicle, now we want to sample your other forms.”
Ice spreads through my veins. Of course they do. “Right,” I say stiffly. “Which is first?”
“I am aware you prefer your eagle form,” Solomon says, hazel eyes boring into mine. He has a burst blood vessel in his left eye. I wonder if it’s from stress. “And we have a list of the beasts you can shift into. But your paternal blood is a king cobra. We’d like to see that first.”
I won’t lie, it bothers me that they already seem to know so much. Who told them what they know? Was it my father? I suppose it could have been any of the serpent guards at the school. Or students. Perhaps even Xander himself has told them all he knows.
Swallowing down the bile now creeping up my throat, I pretend the serpent generals are not suddenly leaning forward in their seats and nod, sliding back onto the table so my legs are straight in front of me.
Rolling the tension out of my shoulders, I shift, my world suddenly falling into darkness as my dress falls in and around me. I don’t hate my serpent form. On the contrary, it’s always interesting to be in a form that has no arms and legs. I’m one long band of powerful muscle, fast moving and fanged, the vibrations of the world humming in my brain. As I slither out of my dress and into the bright white of the room, I even get a little kick out of the fact that everyone’s attention is suddenly and completely fixed on me and my big reveal. I rear up, stretching out my upper spine and finding a satisfying height as I’m suddenly aware of the hood on either side of my head and the forked tongue that instinctively slides out.
The air tastes like metal, plastic, and serpent. Then there’s male sweat and my own blood in the vials on the bench outside. It smells like greed and excitement. I feel every boot and shoe tapping on the stone floor.
Someone takes a picture, and my head snaps towards it, my tongue snaking out again. Pens scratch on clipboards and Solomon steps forward with a tiny, covered container I recognise immediately.
“We’ll need to milk your venom, Aurelia,” he says, slowly and clearly. “Please extend your fangs.”
While his words are polite, his tone is an order, and the ancient instinct in me responds to the threat, my fangs unfolding from their hiding place as a low hissss fills the air.
No one misses the large figure that rises to his considerable height outside. The serpents in the room stiffen as Ghoul stalks into our space full of languid, predatorial authority, his shadows licking around him like black flames.
“Move aside, I’ll do it.” That deep, commanding timbre vibrates along my scales in the most dangerous way.
“My Lord Basilisk?—”
“She could bite you, and then what?” Ghoul says playfully, wagging his finger like he’s talking to a favoured, but errant, child. “I can’t have a dead viper. We need you for a while longer yet, Solly Polly.”
He turns to me.
“Come here, little cobra.” Ghoul pulls up the bottom half of his mask, exposing the bronze skin around his mouth and drawn white fangs over a crazed smile. “Little snakelet. ”
Curse my snake form because she willingly, eagerly slides over to her basilisk mate.